(BLUE'S POV)
"You're staring at him again."
The voice came from my left, low and laced with amusement, but it felt distant, like it had to travel through centuries to reach me.
I blinked slowly, dragging myself back to the present with effort.
Nine hundred years of memories had a way of swallowing me whole if I let them. They lingered beneath my skin, behind my eyes, waiting—always waiting—to pull me under.
But not now. Not when he was here.
"I always stare at him." I replied without looking up from Mason.
A quiet snort followed, familiar, warm, and annoyingly persistent. "It's been fifteen minutes, Blue."
"And?"
Mason shifted slightly in my arms, his fingers tightening weakly in my shirt as though he were holding onto something fragile even in sleep. His face pressed deeper into my chest, his breath warm… uneven… soft in a way that made something ancient inside me go still.
Then, I noticed a faint damp patch spread slowly across my shirt.
I blinked once, then again. I couldn't believe it.
…My mate was drooling on me.
Nine centuries of war. Blood. Loss. Silence. And this—this—was what I got.
It was perfect. He was so perfect. I didn't move. I didn't even consider it. Because somehow… this felt more sacred than every single thing that had happened in my very long life.
Henry leaned back against the couch, one arm thrown lazily over the backrest as he watched me with poorly hidden amusement.
Henry.
My best friend—though calling it that barely scratched the surface. He didn't belong here. Not in a pack like ours. Not among wolves who could smell weakness from a mile away and rip it apart without hesitation. And yet, somehow, he stood in the middle of it all like he had every right to exist there.
A wizard—loud in a way that carried across the clearing before he even appeared. Reckless in the way he laughed at danger, like it was a joke meant only for him. And gods, he talked—endlessly, fearlessly—as if silence were something he refused to let win.
His dark skin always managed to catch the light in a way that made him impossible to ignore, and his wild curls… they had a mind of their own—untamed and stubborn, just like him. No matter how much he tried—or didn't—they refused to behave.
And then there was that grin—that dangerous, familiar grin that usually meant trouble… or chaos… or both.
We met during what should have been a war.
Centuries ago, I had gone to burn down a rogue magic sect that had been experimenting on supernatural creatures—wolves, vampires… anything they could get their hands on. I expected resistance.
I did not expect Henry.
He had been tied to a ritual circle, bleeding, furious, and shouting insults at his captors while actively sabotaging the spell meant to drain his magic.
I remember killing every single one of them.
And then, instead of running… he looked at me—I was covered in blood, my fangs were out, eyes glowing—and he said, "Well, you're terrifying. Are you adopting me or killing me next?"
I had never met someone so unserious in the face of death.
I didn't kill him.
I've regretted that decision every day since.
"You know…" Henry continued now, tilting his head as he studied the very obvious drool stain on my shirt, "most people would wipe that off."
"I am not most people." I replied while softly caressing Mason's hair.
Across from us, Blake leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied me—no… not me. Us.
Blake.
My brother.
Not by blood—but something stronger.
He was born three hundred years after I was taken in by Jeremy and Sofia—my parents, his parents. Where I had been the strange, unwanted vampire child forced into a wolf pack that didn't trust me… Blake had been born into love, into belonging, into power.
He was born with the Alpha genes. Strong. Confident. Annoyingly perceptive.
And yet, despite everything… he never once looked at me like I didn't belong.
I still remember the first time he called me "brother." He had been barely ten, standing between me and a group of older wolves who had decided I didn't deserve to train with them.
He had bared his teeth and said, "If you touch my brother, I'll tell Mom."
It was not a threat. It was a promise.
"…You look disturbingly happy," Blake said now.
That made me look up.
For the first time since Mason collapsed into me, I actually looked at them. All of them.
Ethan. Fiona. Abigail. Henry. Blake. Gilbert.
My people.
My… family.
Ethan stood slightly apart, arms crossed, watchful as always. He was one of the pack's enforcers—long dark hair tied loosely at his back, his presence quiet but heavy, like a sword that didn't need to be drawn to be felt.
We met in blood.
He had been sent to track me once—back when the pack still questioned my presence. I remember letting him find me. Letting him think he had the upper hand.
He attacked first.
He always does.
It took less than a minute to disarm him, pin him, and hold him there while he struggled like his life depended on it.
I could have killed him. Instead, I let him go. He stared at me for a long time after that… then nodded once.
Respect.
That was the beginning of our very long friendship.
Fiona lounged nearby, one leg thrown over the arm of her chair, grinning like she was enjoying this far too much. She's a warrior werewolf through and through—brunette hair falling in messy waves, fire in her eyes, temper sharp enough to make grown men cry.
She had tried to fight me the first day we met. About six hundred years ago.
It wasn't out of hate—but curiosity.
"Let's see if vampires are really that strong," she had said, cracking her knuckles.
She lost.
Badly.
And then burst out laughing while still on the ground.
"Okay," she had said, wiping blood from her lip, "I like you."
That was Fiona.
Simple. Violent. Loyal.
Abigail sat more gracefully than the rest, her red hair catching the light like fire, her expression soft—but deceptive. She's a Beta, kind by nature, deadly by necessity.
She was the first werewolf who didn't look at me like I was something wrong. Back then, the pack barely tolerated me. I was an outsider living under their Alpha's protection.
But Abigail…
Abigail had found me alone one evening after training—bloodied, exhausted, pretending I didn't feel the distance between me and everyone else.
She had sat beside me without asking.
Handed me a cloth. And said, "You don't have to belong to be here. Sometimes… staying is enough."
She had no fear. No hesitation. Just quiet acceptance.
I never forgot that.
Gilbert leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching everything with sharp, unimpressed eyes. A healer and scout werewolf, Black hair, sharper tongue, and a reputation for being insufferably rude.
Which—fair—he is.
But he is also one of the most reliable people I know.
We met when I asked him for a favor. He told me no. I asked again. He insulted me. I offered him something in return. He insulted me again… then did it anyway.
That has been our relationship ever since.
He complains. I ask. He delivers. And somehow, in between, we became… friends.
And now, they were all staring at me like I had just become someone else.
"What?" I asked flatly.
Blake didn't hesitate. "You're smiling."
I frowned slightly. "No, I'm not."
"You are," Fiona chimed in, grinning wider. "It's subtle, but it's there. Kinda creepy, honestly."
Abigail tilted her head, her voice softer. "No… not creepy. Just… different."
Silence stretched between us—brief, but heavy. The Bachelor's party was still happening around us, werewolves were drinking, eating, shouting and generally having a good time; but this little group were as nosy as they come.
Then Blake spoke again, quieter this time. "You look happy, Blue."
My gaze dropped back to Mason. To the way he fit against me like he had always belonged there. To the way his breathing had evened out, trusting… calm… safe.
Something inside me—something that had been empty for centuries—finally settled.
"…I am," I said. The words came too easily. Like they had been waiting all this time.
Ethan exhaled slowly. "Wow… I never thought I'd hear you say that."
"Same," Fiona added. "I thought you'd just brood forever."
"Vampires don't usually get fated mates like werewolves," Abigail said quietly.
Henry raised a finger immediately. "Just a reminder—"
We all looked at him.
"I'm a wizard."
Blake didn't even blink. "…Thank you, Henry. We totally forgot."
"You're welcome." Henry replied with a grin and Blake rolled his eyes.
I barely heard them.
Because Mason moved.
"…Blue…" he murmured softly against my chest, his voice fragile, barely there.
Everything in me stilled. "I'm here," I said immediately, my hand already brushing his hair back.
He hummed. Just… hummed like that was enough. Like I was enough. And then he settled again.
The group fell silent. Not teasing. Not amused. Just… quiet. They all knew what this meant to me.
Blake cleared his throat, lifting his glass. "So… when are you telling him?"
I didn't look away from Mason. "Telling him what?"
"That the world is a mess," Blake said casually. "Vampires, werewolves… and one very dramatic wizard."
Henry raised his glass proudly. "Very dramatic."
My jaw tightened slightly.
"I haven't even told him what he means to me, what we are to each other" I admitted. "Let alone what I am."
Fiona winced. "Yeah… that's important."
"And Mom and Dad?" Blake added, more serious now. "The Alpha and Luna will want to know."
I didn't answer because the truth was simple. I wasn't ready. Not ready to share him. Not when I had just found him. Not when he was still like this—soft… unaware… mine.
Carefully, I stood, sliding one arm beneath his legs and the other around his back. Mason didn't wake.
He just leaned into me more. Like he trusted me completely.
"Where are you going?" Henry asked.
"Home."
Blake grinned instantly. "His home or yours?"
"Mine."
I pulled him closer instinctively. "I can't bear to part with him just yet."
Blake laughed. "Wow. Look at you."
"He looks adorable," Abigail said softly.
"Protect him at all costs," Fiona added.
Henry nodded. "If anything happens to him, I will start a war."
"I will end it before you begin," I replied calmly. They laughed. But I didn't. Because I meant every word.